A/N: We were supposed to do a free-write; I took it a step further and did free-association writing.

Voice. I've heard too many like it before and it drills into my skull like a dentist's tool or hungry teeth. I know that it shouldn't aggravate me so; it is practiced, mellifluous-- schoolteacher candle wax, smiling apples, snow-cone sticky faces plastered with sun. Salty, classroom-made ice cream. What does she plan to accomplish, this woman, this published woman ("published" like it's a disease or turgid thing in the throat). So surly, so naïve, hiding their eyes behind their sour faces and lengthy hair, spilling such mediocre blood in words like dull-edged swords. Poor panther-kit-kat; no one to play with. No heads to screw with. Desire and wish are such different animals, but so are kids and children.

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